The end of the tunnel

NOT that this summer has been a summer of darkness (though in comparison to last summer in Alaska, it is – har har) (sorry), but I think I have just run out of energy. Or am in desperate need of a better diet and exercise.

Three things:

Thing 1: Am I getting dumber, or is it just me? (Uch, again with the "joking." Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me) In the past couple years, I have increasingly opted for less demanding, less challenging distractions in my film and book choices. Instead of “An Inconvenient Truth,” I buy a ticket for “Nacho Libre.” Instead of Zadie Smith, my eyes stray over to Robert Ludlow (the Covert-One series, if you must know – trashy spy thrillers). Instead of “60 Minutes,” I click over to “Friends.”

I’ve been noticing this over the years, but realized it again with fresh dismay on Monday, when I went to the Imperial War Museum. I first went there 10 years ago, the summer before senior year, when I was doing research for what eventually became my senior thesis (god, even writing that makes me think, “I was such an INTELLECTUAL compared to now”). I loved it. I went there twice (the second time with the then- and now- truly intellectual BC) and spent hours each time reading each small, static, non-dynamic label explaining what MI5, MI6, SOE, and SAS were; what life was like for child evacuees from London, shipped off to the countryside or overseas during the Blitz; what life in the trenches was like during WWI; the experience of Holocaust survivors and victims.

I went on Monday, and I was mildly bored.

Oh, I still liked the sound effects in the spy exhibit (strings of impending doom, a door slamming, and running footsteps), and it was fun to press the buttons and hear old air raid sirens, and it did impress upon me again how much London is shaped both physically and psychologically by war, but I had no patience for the painstaking little labels for all the exhibit items. “Why don’t they just have a video?” I thought exasperatedly.

Maybe it’s the year I spent working at the exhibit design firm after college, when I learned about interactive, dynamic, symbolic exhibit design. Maybe it’s that I already know the stuff (though I’d forgotten a lot of it) and so didn’t want to look at it again. Maybe, as my mentor charitably suggested at lunch today, it’s because I’m older and have less time and just want to get information in the most efficient way possible. Maybe it’s that law school is an energy-sapping, mentally demanding pursuit, and now that I’m older and less energetic, I don’t want to absorb any more information on my free time. I just want to feed my brain junk food.

Huh. That’s not good.

I’m sure it’s a mix of all those reasons, but the last one dismays me. There are times when I feel like my old self (or at least the self I choose to remember). Like tonight, I went to the National Gallery, and had an absolutely wonderful time first listening to a great tour that examined three paintings in detail (a brilliant painting of Samson and Delilah by Rubens and a beautiful Hogarth among them), and then wandering around and staring at works by wacky German 16th century painters (anyone remember from art history the Hans Holbein 1533 painting, “The Ambassadors,” with that funkaliciously weird, totally out of place, distorted skull in the foreground? It’s in the NG) and witty social commentary by Hogarth (I’m thinking of the marriage of convenience series). I admired the building and the works within, and was pretty sad to leave, though I do have the prospect of going to the National Portrait Gallery tomorrow night.

So I do have these moments still when I think, oh right, I still do appreciate art and stuff and maybe my brain isn’t completely a pile of mush with pieces of law stuffed in it. But there are more often times when I feel utterly lazy in my mind and I just don’t want to challenge it with any more Smart Stuf.

I did have some sort of point, but I feel I’ve been whining on and on for too long, and will stop now.

Thing 2: What else has changed about me in the past few years is the kind of stuff that makes me really, really mad, and how mad it gets me. In the past three days, I’ve gotten really disproportionately angry about two things, and I just don’t know why. Bottled up rage?

The first thing happened at the Imperial War Museum, when I was buying some postcards, and tried to pay with a credit card. The cashier asked for ID, and I had none on me. She asked the other cashier if I could just show my other credit cards, and the other cashier said that wasn’t sufficient, it had to be a picture ID, and did I have a driver’s license or a passport. No, sez I, and stood there waiting. They waited back. I finally said, “You know what, I’ll just pay with cash.” But inside I was seething. And for what? Because: 1. It’s ME. It’s really my credit card. And no other time I’ve used it here have I been asked for ID. 2. It was three frickin’ dollars! THREE! And finally, 3. I know it’s because when you use a credit card, the merchant gets charged a fee, and they probably didn’t want to incur that fee for three frickin’ dollars. But then just have a freaking credit card minimum! Don’t lie to me about needing ID and such! Just tell me the truth!

God. I’m getting annoyed just thinking about it.*

The other thing was today, when I was in the National Gallery, and wanted to buy something in the shop, but wasn’t allowed in because they were closing. I asked the woman at the door, “If I know exactly what I’m going to buy?” She said no. I peered inside, where there were at least 5 people still wandering around and in line, and asked, “Seriously? There are still people in line.” She said no. I stared at her, said exasperatedly, “Oh, FINE” and walked off in a huff.

See *’d statement above.) People who aren’t flexible with silly rules drive me up the wall. Especially since it wouldn’t have violated the intent of the rule to let me in – I knew what I was going to buy, fool! I wouldn’t have caused the staff to stay any longer! I would’ve had the money in hand walking up to the register! Argh!

Yes, I KNOW I’m being silly. I can’t tell if it’s aggressiveness I’ve picked up at law school or whether I’m just coming into my own as the irascible curmudgeon that I was always meant to be. But since I’m in a blaming mood, I’ll just point to law school, and write pointedly that I used to be more patient.

Thing 3: This is not entirely related to the points above. But it is, sort of. Maybe. Well, I’ll write it with little detail and even less coherence, and you decide.

My officemate until last Friday is devoutly religious, in that crazy-fanatic-shiny-eyed kind of way. (You can add intolerance to the list of bad habits I’ve picked up in the last year. From LAW SCHOOL, no doubt.) I know other devoutly religious people (hey, some of my best friends are religious!), but this guy took it to another level, seeing signs and messages from God in a LOT of things.

Anyway. When we were saying goodbye, I told him to take care, keep in touch, the usual. He looked at me from his great height, with his deep-set, solemn eyes, and said, “God has a plan for you. Don’t forget.”

I’ve been thinking of this in the past several days, in conjunction with what my officemate told me that first night I met him (that everyone is special and should do what they are meant to do on this earth). Tonight, I stared at that wacky Hans Holbein painting, spinning out, as I do, a fantasy of how I would become completely enamored of German 16th century portraitists and learn more about them and become the world expert on “The Ambassadors” and be a totally fulfilled and really cool art historian. And as I thought that, I wondered: what if it’s not indecision that’s been dogging me all these years? What if it’s not not being able to decide between journalism or history grad school or dog walking or travel writing or (fill in the blank)?

What if it’s just fear?

I don’t know, maybe it’s been obvious to you that I’m afraid, or maybe you’re just as taken aback as I am at the possibility. But – I think that might be it.

What a really lousy reason to be in law school, disliking the people, the topic, the teaching method, the career choices. A sad, lousy reason.